Sons of Dís
by Lasgalendil
Summary: Who was this woman, and what were her parting words to Thórin her brother, and to Fili and Kili her sons? On the eve of the quest for Erebor, two young dwarves receive their mother's blessing and are reborn as the heroes we know of renown. They take new names. They take for themselves the name of Dís.


"So that's what you came here for, brother," Dís said in the ensuing silence. "To steal my sons away."

"Fili is my heir."

"Yet he is not your son. You remember Frérin, brother, how they hewed him as he lay before the gates of Khaza-dûm. If you would risk the life of a child, Thráinson, risk your own."

"You know I have none."

"You were never as brave as I."

"Never have I accepted our defeat," he spoke. "Have you forgotten the halls of Thrór, and Thráin our father, that you would trade the wealth of Erebor for the squalors of Exile? Would you trade the surety of our people for sons to suckle at your breasts? So Dáin too would have us think! Have you also grown so content?"

"You have lost a brother. A father. A grandfather. Yet all this have I lost and my husband as well," her voice was grim. "You shall not take my sons from me."

"I had not heard it was in your power to stop me," said Thórin.

"You were not the only to stand before Azog at Azanulbizar. Nor were you the only to lead our people into Exile, to escape from the ruin of Erebor nor face the wrath of Smaug the Calamitous. So I say to you brother, I am no dotard, even now. The forge of Dís, Thráindaughter is yet hot, and her arms are strong! You may take them from me, but you will not find it so easy, and you would be cursed a kinslayer among all our folk and be accursed of Mahal our Maker."

"I ask you for the strength to defend our people, to see the scions of Dúrin the Deathless made great again, yet you speak openly to me of bloodshed beneath the roof of a kinsman!" he cried in fury. "Can it be my ears deceive me? Am I yet in the house of Dúrin, or the den of cowering orcs, thrice-accursed? Or the halls of Thranduil the faithless that I should be threatened thus?"

"You shall not take my sons from me," she spoke again.

"One cannot steal what already belongs to him," he returned.

"Then go," she laughed as the fey mood left her. "Reclaim your Mountain and your gold, Thráinson. And I will keep your heirs safe until your return."

"Fili will be King under the Mountain one day," he fingered his beard. "I would not have it said that the line of Dúrin did not play their part in restoring our people's home."

"His place is here," she replied. "With his brother."

"The boy is old enough," Thórin stood. "He may decide himself the doom that he would chose. To stay here, a craftsman, a toymaker, a tinkerer for the sons of Men, or the opportunity to rise higher still than all his fathers before him, to walk within the heart of Erebor and wear the King's Jewel, as is his birthright? To reclaim Khazad-dûm and gaze into the pools of Kheled-zâram, where the crown of Dúrin is forever hung? For as long as our people endure they will speak his name, and even after in the halls of Mahal they will sing his praise."

"If you should succeed," said Dís. "What then if you should fail, and my son fall?"

"Even in death we have no certainty," he grumbled. "You know this. I cannot promise you his return, but renown still he might gain, even if all else is lost."

"One cannot hold renown, nor hope for children from its loins," she sat, wearied. "And in the bitter watches of the night one may come to curse it while others strive still for glory."

Long was there silence between them.

"So this is your answer," spoke Thórin. "I have not your blessing to take that which is mine by right."

"You are King under the Mountain, brother. All the riches that lie in Erebor are yours by right. Yet not with the seven armies of the sons of Dúrin could you do this, and you have not the authority to command their allegiance."

He frowned. "The blood of Dúrin the Deathless is strong."

"The will of Smaug the Golden is stronger still. You will not take Erebor alive."

A piercing look passed between them, grim and fell. "I need not take Erebor. I need only that which lies within."

"The Arkenstone?" she cried. "Is this then your errand? Think you that Smaug would part with this treasure so easily? Think you not that he will have destroyed it, if indeed it is not lost beneath the mountain, swallowed up by the stone from whence it came?"

"Destroy it?" answered Thórin. "No. He is a dragon, and as such is slave to his greed. It is not in the power of Smaug the Usurper to consider such a thing."

"Nor yet is it in your power to take it from him, brother, if he would not be so parted."

"The dragon Smaug has not been seen in sixty years. It may be he slumbers beneath the stone, it may be the strength of Girion, Lord of Dale, took the slow turn of years to subdue him."

"Think you not that others have read the signs as you have?" Anger was in her reply. "There are eyes upon the mountain, brother. Elves. Men. Wyrms from the north. They would not see the spoils of Erebor lost so easily. It is a tempting prize."

"Yet few would risk such an endeavor."

"Then they are wiser than you. The Great Roads are watched, and Bolg, son of Azog who you killed, has put a price upon your head," said Dís. "You would not reach the Mountain alive."

"I have no fear of such filth," a fell light was in his eyes. "If it is vengeance he seeks, then I too would have my thirst quenched for the sake of Thrór, my forefather."

"Trolls have come down from the Mountains. Wargs prowl the passes to the East. A shadow has fallen upon the Greenwood," she clasped his hands in hers. "Yet you think to take a small band of such unseasoned stragglers as you may find to starve upon the slopes of Erebor?"

"The omens have spoken," said Thórin. "Birds have been seen flying back to the mountains."

"Omens? Rumors! Whispers!" she cried in dismay. "The writ of the would-be-wise and the follies of the foolish! Such stories may be believed by children, but none else. For who among Men or Elves would brave the desolation of Smaug?"

Longer still was the silence between them.

Finally he spoke. "I will not abandon hope."

"The wizard Gandalf is not your friend, Thórin," she sighed. "Nor yet is the White Witch of the Woods nor the Lord of Imladris in his hidden home. Evil stirs in the East and they would seek to use you only a shield, to supplant you when they may. Abandon this quest, brother," spoke Dís. "Hope has forsaken us long ago."

But the sons of Dúrin would not prove so easily dissuaded.

"Come. Call the boy," spoke Thórin. "I would know his will."

"Already you know his answer," she lamented. "His king calls, and as a father to him you were for a while. Already the choice is made for him: if you offer, he will go."

"If I fall then the mantle of Dúrin must pass to his shoulders," muttered Thórin. "It would be not a kindness to have him carry such a burden alone, as I have done."

"If there is need for succor, take me in his stead," said Dís. "My arm is yet strong, and my eyes keen."

"Come, sister," he kissed her. "Two sons you have. Spare me the one so he might learn to lead, and the line of our people endure."

"Fili you shall have, if indeed his heart is willing."

He bowed his head. "And you have a King's thanks, and the gratitude of our people."

"Keep your thanks," she told him. "I would have my son. Yet Kili I shall keep."

He stroked his beard, dark eyes considering long her torment. "Perhaps that is wiser. Let it be as you say."

"Yet who then shall lead our people while you are away?"

"The blood of Dúrin," spoke Thórin.

"Dáin? The craven?" she scoffed. "He sits in his halls of iron. He cares not for the well-being of those outside his sight."

"Not Dáin," said Thórin.

"Whom amongst your retainer would you have remain?" she wondered. "You could not spare Balin, son of Fundin."

"No," said Thórin.

"My son is but a boy," she said. "He is a huntsman, not a warrior. To kill an orc alone in the woods is one thing, it is another to face a host. They would not follow him."

"I speak not of your son, Dúrindaughter. I speak of you. Come, bring me the boy. I would have his answer."

"You would take my son, yet leave me to lead in your stead?" asked Dís in amaze.

"I would."

"Then cursed are you!" she cried. "And a fool! And least blessed and thankless among brothers!"

Thórin said naught.

"Nonetheless, you honor me. Stay. I will bring the boy."

He need not wait long. Fili, his sister-son, had been standing at the door, yet his bright face did not reveal whether he had indeed heard the dark words spoken.

"Hail and well met, Fili, son of Frothi."

Fili bowed low. "At your service."

"Say not so until you have heard me speak. Kneel!" he commanded.

He knelt in wonder, for the King under the Mountain was fell and wroth.

"I would reclaim Erebor for the sake of the folk of Dúrin, your kin. I would have you by my side as my scion and heir, Frothison. What is your answer? Will you come? Speak!"

"I do not know what strength is in my blood," Fili stammered from his knees, "but if you ask it of me to retake Erebor, then gladly I would go. You have my axe."

"Rise, Fili, son of Frothi!" said Thórin. "Songs will be sung of your courage."

But even as he rose, another rushed forward to take his place.

"Uncle, you have taken no wife and sired no sons," spoke Kili, son of Frothi, kneeling in his turn. "Neither still has my brother. It may yet be I am King under the Mountain one day, and I too would learn to lead. You have my bow."

"Enough, my son," spoke Dís.

"I am not a boy any longer, mother, that you may command me whether to stay or go," he returned, yet his clear eyes and voice never wavered from the stern face of the King. "I offer my service to my King, and he alone will I obey. Command me, Lord! I beg of you."

In the silence, Fili spoke. "Your heart would rest better, mother, knowing Kili is at my side. Where one may fall, two might overcome."

"My heart will not rest until you are safely returned to me, my son."

"You may wait long," said Thórin.

"My brother's words have wisdom, Uncle!" cried Kili. "What of me? I too would look upon the halls of Thrór my forefather!"

"Courage, honor, a willing heart. Against these even I can make no argument," said Thórin, yet his countenance was troubled. "Rise, Kili son of Frothi. Songs will be sung, though it may be in time you will resent their singing."

"Name me not thus," he spoke suddenly, finding courage. "From this day forth, I shall be called Kili, son of Dís."

"My son…" said Dís. "Dishonor not the name of your father."

"My father fought bravely, and was slain in battle. I dishonor him not, lady, by taking the name of the wife he loved so dear and for whom he gave his life. For she is of the line of Dúrin, and she is fair, and brave and kind. And she would remain, to watch all that she loves go off to be slain when I myself would so be ashamed. She craves not valor, nor renown, and desires not songs of her deeds to be sung in life or death. Yet even if it is not in me to retake Erebor, still would I have them speak her name among the deeds of the mightest sons of Dúrin, for in she alone they have placed their trust."

"This name I too shall take, for the sake of the mother who bore me," Fili knelt beside his brother. "From this day forth I will be Fili, son of Dís, bravest and most beloved of the daughters of Dúrin."

"Bless us, Uncle," they said together.

But the King only fingered his beard.

"They have not a father," Dís beseeched him. "Deny them not this rite."

"I deny them nothing. Thórin Thráinson is not the only warrior here. If they are to receive blessing, let it be at your hand."

Dís bowed. "Let it be as you say."

She girded herself. Arrayed their beards. Annointed their heads with oil from her forge.

Then Dís began to chant:

_Be good and upright, that Mahal may love thee._

_Safegaurd the helpless, defend the weak,_

_Succor those who are widows or orphans indeed;_

_Forget not the injured._

_Quench not the fires of thy forge for the spoils of war,_

_Let not thy scales be found wanting._

_Envy not the riches nor wife of thy neighbor._

_Let not thy tongue be caught in deceit,_

_Nor let thy heart be tempted by the promises of the Deceiver_

_For He is subtle, and quick to evil._

_Do not forsake the name of the fathers who bore thee;_

_Forget not the wrongs they have suffered, nor toils, nor wandering_

_For long they have sojourned._

_Take not slaves and be none._

_Avenge the blood of the fallen,_

_Lay the dead to rest._

_Obtain a good woman, for her worth is far above mithril_

_And all the jewels beneath the earth._

_Live long. Fight fiercely,_

_That in the halls of Mahal thy Maker thou wilst not be ashamed._

_Sire strong sons,_

_Let them not forget the tongue of thy people_

_Nor the craft of their fathers before them._

_Guard foremost thy family, and_

_Do unto others as thou wouldst have done unto thyself._

"That is thy oath," she spoke, then struck them. "This is so thou mightst remember it!"

And again she chanted:

_May thy hammer be heavy._

_May thy feet be swift._

_May thy arm be strong._

_May thy fingers run with gold, yet may gold have not power over thee._

_Thus Mahal has blessed thee. Let not now thy name become accursed!_

"Rise now, Fili and Kili, sons of Dúrin!" she cried. "Rise, now, sons of Dís!"

The Company of Thórin Oakenshield left in the darkness, ere break of day. Few eyes beheld their passing.

"There will be tales and songs of their deeds for as long as the race of Dúrin endures," said Thórin to Dís. "Let not there be tears in your parting."

"I desire not songs, nor do I love the hammer for its strength nor the arrow for its swiftness," she said. "I save my tears like my love for those who wield them, and that which they defend."

They did not speak again.

* * *

><p>Fili and Kili's father is never named by Tolkien. Dís is the only woman among the Dwarves to be called by name. It is up to us to wonder whether this was customary among those in the line of Dúrin to keep the name of the parent in their lineage, what deeds she may have done to deserve such honor, or whether it was indeed by the will of her sons.<p> 


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